Dragon's Eye
by kingspensieve
Summary: Years after the Dark Lord's defeat, Auror Harry Potter is leading an investigation into a mysterious beast that seems to bring tragedy to whoever sees it. The case is at a standstill until Harry's son, James, becomes the first to have seen the beast and survive, and he decides it's time to re-double his efforts with the help of some familiar allies.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Shadows in the Night**

Ernie Bradstaff ran down the sidewalk at top speed, determined to make it to work on time for once. Perhaps even a bit early, if he worked this just right. It was still dark this early in the morning, and the ground was wet from last night's rain. He was trying desperately to run and not slip at the same time. He was only five blocks away.

As he ran past a pitch black alley, he stopped dead in his tracks. His satchel hit the ground as he frowned, staring down the alleyway. He could have sworn he'd heard someone call him… There it was again, very faintly, down at the end of the alley. Ernie glanced up and down the deserted walkway before taking one cautious step towards the alley. His brow furrowed as he took another, his satchel forgotten on the ground.

Up on the third floor of the studio building across the street, an old janitor was doing last minute sweeps before the morning business started up. A piercing scream jolted him out of the monotony, and he dashed to the window to stare down at the darkened street. A young man came stumbling out of the darkened alley and fell to the ground as a shadow of some sort swooped out from behind him. The janitor blinked hard. The shadow hissed, sounding like a hundred steam pipes bursting. With a shriek, it darted up and over the building and disappeared from view. Uncertain as to what to do for the collapsed man on the street, the old janitor hesitated at the window long enough to see a triple-decker bus come barreling out of nowhere towards the unconscious man on the street. His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen, and, unable to look away, yelped as he heard a sickening crunch…

The authorities were at a loss. Strange things were happening, and there was a severe lack of evidence in regards to the truth. The case of poor Ernie Bradstaff was the fifth in a line of unexplainable tragedies in the London area in the past four months. The only tidbit in this investigation was the eye-witness testimony of an ancient janitor who not only claimed to have seen a demon, but also a bus that appeared just long enough to run over the young man before disappearing with a loud _Crack!_ The level of belief they had in that testimony was staggering… In other words, they were completely stumped.

_A/N: This is the prologue to an intended continued story. Updates may take a while due to responsibilities. Also, this story is set in Europe. No, I am not European. There will be discrepancies in the language. Do bear with it, if you would. Several chapters are already completed and more are in the works._


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

With a yawn, Harry Potter sat at the breakfast table trying to remember how to butter a piece of toast. He had had little to no sleep over the past few weeks. The Auror office was swamped with reports of beasts roaming the country. Naturally, that meant that he had put in nearly the maximum overtime at the Ministry for the month.

Giving up on the toast after the sixth time of stabbing himself in the thumb, he rubbed his eyes and grabbed a small bottle from the top shelf of the Potions cabinet. Downing the Pepper-Up in one swallow, he shook his head and, feeling much more alert, stepped over to the fireplace to Floo to the Ministry. One of these days, he was going to take a holiday…

Harry wasn't certain what exactly had happened in the four hours since he'd clocked out the night before, or rather early morning, but it was obvious that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was in an uproar.

"—saw the bus! Can you imagine? Memory Charms here, Memory Charms there!"

"I know! We've impounded the Knight Bus. Got to figure this out somehow…"

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. He didn't care to guess what the officers were discussing; he was pretty sure he already knew. His cubicle was right next to the window, and he made his way over to it hoping that he wasn't going to be sent out immediately. He really was behind on his paperwork, and Arthur was going to be on his case again if he didn't get it turned in on tine.

He smirked. Arthur Weasley had been promoted quickly in the years following the Second Wizarding War. Eventually, he had been assigned as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Minister Shackelbolt had been pushing for that appointment for a long time. Arthur still thought of Harry as a son, but that didn't stop him lecturing him on the importance of punctuality when it came to paperwork. Of course, that might also have contributed to it.

Harry came back to himself as he realized a Memo was furiously whizzing around his head. He grabbed it and groaned. As he'd suspected, the Shadow had been seen again, and this time a Muggle had died. Not only that, another Muggle had actually witnessed the event and reported it to Muggle police. Not that they were completely useless, but they did tend to get in the way a bit, and they never could get to the bottom of the mystery. This time, apparently, something had changed the destination of the Knight Bus, and it had appeared long enough to run the poor Muggle over before popping back to its earlier route. Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the bus for as long as Harry could remember, was currently giving testimony in a Ministry interrogation room. Obviously, magic was involved. The problem was that no one seemed to know what to look for, and even scouring Knockturn Alley had turned up zero clues. No known magic could be responsible for everything that was happening, which, of course, left Harry and the rest of the Aurors assigned to the case under the assumption that they were dealing with something either experimental or highly dark.

Things were getting difficult to handle, though, as more and more Muggles were being attacked. They weren't all Muggles, however. The Muggle authorities might not realize it, but these attacks were happening all across Europe to wizards and Muggles alike. There seemed to be no distinction between them. The French Minister for Magic had been in the office only last week to discuss collaboration on the investigation. While Harry wasn't keen on working with the almost-impossible-to-understand-French officers, they had provided quite a bit of evidence linking several of the attacks with certainty.

"Harry," said a voice behind him. It was Arthur, looking concerned and more than a little irritated. He turned, hoping his face looked attentive. The Pepper-Up only did so much. "As you can see, there's been another incident. We've already got two squads working this case. I don't know what we're missing," he pulled a chair over from an empty desk and slumped into it, "How's the investigation going?"

Harry shook his head, "Not good. Even with the information from the French ministry, there are too many blanks to fill." He absentmindedly rubbed the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, an old habit that only ever came up when he was particularly distressed, "We have no record of anything like this. We know this shadow is part of the issue, probably causing everything to happen, but we simply cannot find one single reference to anything capable of this."

Arthur started to speak then looked as if he thought better of it. Harry frowned, "What?"

"Well, given the likelihood that this shadow is the product of some type of dark magic, I was thinking that we should perhaps find someone well versed in the Dark Arts…"

Harry was already shaking his head again, "We've tried. Knockturn Alley, hags, the werewolf dens… I even went to Azkaban myself two weeks ago. The prisoners fit to talk won't, and Legilimency on them is less than ideal. They don't have coherent thoughts anymore."

"Yes, I saw that report," Arthur hesitated again, "You know, there might not be anyone _alive_ that can help us…" Harry looked at him sharply, noticing the emphasis he put on "alive". "What I mean, Harry, is that we might need to talk to someone who is, well, dead."

"That's a great idea, Arthur, except for one little issue," Harry stated levelly, "They're _dead_. Unless we figure out how to send officers beyond the veil without losing them, we're really not equipped to—"

"I was actually thinking a _portrait_ of someone who is dead, not the dead person himself."

A light clicked, "You want me to go and pick his brain?"

"I was rather hoping you would. He's more willing to talk to you, for some reason. Always is."

"I don't think _willing_ is really the right word, Arthur. He tolerates me. Barely."

"In any case, Harry, he might know something. He was rather… engrossed in the Dark Arts at one time, and he sat in Voldemort's pocket for years," Arthur spread his hands, "It's the only possible lead we have, Harry."

Drumming his fingers on the desk for long moments, Harry stared beyond Arthur Weasley. It had been years since he'd last spoken to the portrait. The last time hadn't exactly gone well, either. He'd had painted books tossed at him. They hadn't come out of the painting, of course, but Harry had gotten the point well enough.

As Harry sat in thought, the office Floo flared to life. It was small, meant only for communication. Harry and Arthur both jumped in surprise. Sitting in the flames was none other than Neville Longbottom's head looking severely distressed.

"Neville?" Harry said, quickly moving over to the Floo.

Neville sighed, "Oh, good, you're here. I was worried I'd have to come down there."

"What's wrong, Neville?" Arthur asked as he joined Harry by the fire. Neville looked like he hated to answer. The look on his face as he tried to formulate an answer made Harry's thoughts jump to the only reason Hogwarts Professor Longbottom would be contacting him like this. Harry gritted his teeth, hoping he wasn't about to have to go retrieve his thirteen-year-old son from Hogwarts. "James?" he said flatly.

Neville nodded but continued looking worried, "But it's not what you're thinking, mate. He hasn't done anything; it's just… Well, we may have a problem."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry pushed, "Yes?"

Neville took a deep breath, "He saw the Shadow."

Arthur dropped his wand. Harry didn't move, just made himself breathe. "Al?" he asked. Neville shook his head, "Just James. He saw it as he was heading out to Hogsmeade. Apparently, he stopped to tie his shoe, of all things. Ran right up to Minerva's office after. I happened to be in there, and he told us. Seems it floated right up in front of him and just stared for a moment before disappearing. Shook him pretty badly. Minerva's got Madame Pomfrey in here now with a Calming Draught, but having read the papers lately I thought I'd better call you. Nothing's happened yet, but that may be due to the castle's magic. It may not be able to get to him in here…"

Harry closed his eyes. Retrieving his cloak, he said, "I'll be right there, Neville." Neville nodded and pulled out of the fire with a _pop._ Harry looked over at Arthur and sighed, "Bloody hell…"

Arthur nodded and waved Harry away, "Go on. You're still on the clock; this is technically work related. And, Harry? Remember the portrait."

Harry nodded with a frown. He had to remember the portrait. The man might be the key to unraveling the entire mystery. He sighed again as he Disapparated to the Hogwarts perimeter. His stomach clenched as he considered what might happen to James if he couldn't figure this out, and quickly now. He stalked towards the castle doors, hoping that for once Severus Snape might be in a good mood.

_A/N: There's chapter 1, then. Chapter 2 will follow shortly. Also, since we've now gotten into recognizable characters, I'll stick a little disclaimer in here. Said recognizable characters, places, etc. are not mine. This is merely an exercise in writing. _


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The castle was deserted. It was a beautiful Hogsmeade Saturday, after all. At half past nine now, most of the students were still in the village or in their common rooms. A voice stopped him as he marched towards the Grand Staircase.

"What's this, then?" Argus Filch came lumbering out of the Great Hall and stared maliciously at Harry, who rolled his eyes. "No escort, no entry. Can't have just anyone waltzing through the castle, now, can we?"

"I'll just _waltz_ right up to the Headmistress's office, then, and turn myself in," Harry said levelly. Filch's eyes narrowed, but he seemed to be considering what Harry had said. When he nodded and replied, "That'll work with protocol," before slowly shuffling away, Harry thought that perhaps it was time for a new caretaker. One who wasn't quite so confused… Turning, Harry strode once more for the staircase. He found the entrance to the Headmistress's office a few minutes later on the second floor.

Harry gave the eagle the password, "Calico," and ascended the spiraling staircase.

He entered the office, a place he had visited only a few times since leaving Hogwarts (usually due to something James and his nephew Fred had cooked up), and found Professor McGonagall and Neville sitting beside his son, who seemed to be doing his best to look tough and failing miserably. At thirteen, James was the spitting image of his grandfather and just as mischievous. Harry received a letter at least once a month notifying him of something James had done. He usually ended up hiding most of those from Ginny; some of the things that boy got up to while at school would earn him more than a Howler from his mother. At the moment, though, the boy that glanced up at Harry didn't have a hint of the prankster in his eyes.

"Hey," Harry said as he crouched down in front of James, "You want to tell me or show me?" It would be easier if he used Legilimency. The evidence would be more concrete, but he had taught James Occlumency as soon as he had been old enough, and the boy could now block him out easily whenever he wanted to. James bit his lip before looking up at Harry, mind open. Harry met his eyes, and his vision swirled. A few moments later, he pulled back and stood up.

McGonagall and Neville followed him over to her desk and sat down. James stayed where he was on the steps leading over to the desk and watched them. "We never do seem to meet under pleasant circumstances anymore, Harry," said McGonagall quietly, glancing back over at James. Neville ran his hand through his hair and asked, "What do you think?"

"I think you're right about the castle's magic keeping this thing out. Everyone who's seen this shadow has been attacked immediately after. It's been a little over an hour and a half since he saw it. And he did see it. No one's ever been able to report exactly what it looked like before; they're usually incapacitated or dead, but he got a full view of it. Everyone keeps reporting different "beasts" stalking all over Britain, and it definitely looks like a beast. Reptilian, sort of. It's hard to tell because of the ghostlike quality. In any case, we've got to get to the bottom of this soon. It's already been going on too long."

"All of the teachers have been searching through their research," McGonagall sighed, "No one has found anything that even remotely resembles these attacks."

Harry nodded slowly, "This is either very new magic or very old. I doubt anyone but Binns might have ever heard of it. If he hasn't, I'm not sure where to look. The Aurors are tracking down anyone they can find who practices Old Magic. Spell Development wizards are busy trying to figure out how to catch the bloody thing."

James had gotten up and moved over to the adults. "What about me?" he asked. Harry turned to him, "You're going to stay here. For now, it seems like whatever this is can't mess with the castle. In the meantime, I want you to go to class and do your homework. And until we figure this out, don't go anywhere alone and don't leave the grounds."

"But, Quidditch—"

"Is on the grounds,"Harry looked hard at him, "And will be monitored. I want you to be able to play, but you're going to go by my rules if you do. Understand?" James nodded, not altogether happy with these new restrictions. If the castle was safe, then why were more rules needed inside it? Harry saw the look on his face and prodded him with his wand, "At least you're still allowed to move about inside the castle normally. Cheer up. You look like Christmas was cancelled." Harry didn't feel at all like making jokes, but the boy needed something to take his mind off the worry. It seemed to work; James gave him a sideways smirk and moved towards the door. Harry waved him off, and he took off down the spiral staircase. "No running!" Harry called after him, shaking his head. He looked at the two teachers, "Doesn't do any good to tell him that at home, either." Neville snorted at that, "Doesn't do much good to tell him anything. Pair him up with Fred Weasley, and it's like Fred and George all over again."

McGonagall smiled, "Too much like his grandfather."

Harry returned the smile for a moment before lapsing back into his thoughts. "What do we need to do, Harry?" asked Neville when the silence stretched. His question pulled Harry back.

"I suppose keep an eye out. Same as before. Don't take chances with anything. Considering the situation, it might be a good idea to cancel Hogsmeade visits, Professor." This last Harry directed at McGonagall, who nodded and said, "I thought as much. If it went after one student and lost him, it might go after another."

Remembering he needed to speak to Snape's portrait, Harry glanced over at it. Snape, like every other headmaster on the walls, was asleep. Harry smirked; with everything that had happened over the last hour, he very much doubted the man was actually asleep. More than likely, he had adopted the method of feigning sleep to eavesdrop that most of the old portraits used so frequently. Feeling the need to vent his agitation somehow and figuring he'd test the waters just to see if Snape really was asleep, he walked over to the portrait and said, "I hope that encyclopedia's spine didn't split when you threw it at me."

Snape opened his eyes and scowled at him, "You should be thankful it couldn't leave the portrait."

"Nice to see you, too," Harry looked over his shoulder at Neville and McGonagall, "I wonder if I could have a few minutes? I need to talk to him." They rose to leave, but Neville hesitated, "Harry? Let me know if I can help?" Harry nodded, and they left. He turned back to the portrait.

"You're a lot less reserved than you used to be when it comes to me," Harry said, "Throwing books and everything."

"Life as a portrait is incredibly freeing, Potter," Snape said snidely, "And you deserved it."

"If you'll recall, Professor, you were the one who started the argument. And I thought we were beginning to get along," he paused, "In the interests of time and mending bridges, I'll apologize for calling you a drunken bat."

"What is it you want?"

"You've heard about this shadow that brings tragedy?" Snape nodded slowly, "And that James saw it today?" Another nod.

"You think I might know what it is."

Harry grimaced, "I'm hoping you know what it is, or at least have an idea. We're out of leads. We don't have anyone with enough knowledge of the Dark Arts who is willing to talk to us. And, no, my mind did not automatically jump to you. It was actually Arthur Weasley's suggestion to ask you."

"I do not know what the creature is." Harry's heart sank. "But… parts of what I have heard do seem familiar. Tell me the things that have happened after the shadow was spotted. The method may be the key. As I was conveniently enough painted surrounded by an immense library, I assume that I will be able to find something relevant."

Thankful that Snape was back in civil mode, Harry related all he knew of the attacks. The other man listened, sometimes taking notes. Finally, he looked up, "I will research this. If I find something, Minerva will call you." He moved deeper into the portrait. When nothing else was said, Harry assumed Snape was through talking to him. At some point, he had learned that it was much easier to just go along with him when he did this. Evidently, the fact that he was a painting and could do whatever he wanted had made Snape uncaring as to whether or not anyone wanted his attention. Not that he had cared much during his life either, though.

As Harry departed the office, Snape looked up. "Thank Merlin," he breathed, "I can only stand so much… Potter… at one time."

"Oh, come now, Severus,"chuckled the next-door portrait of Albus Dumbledore, "You and I both know Harry has quite a bit of respect for you. That boy of his is living proof of it."

"Why anyone would name their child in such a way baffles me…" scoffed Snape.

"Oh, I don't know…" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "I rather like it. It has a nice sound to it."

In a rare huff of laughter, Snape said, "You would, Albus. I suppose it's lucky you are planted in that portrait; I don't think the world could manage two of you at once."

"Or two of you, perhaps?" the twinkle was becoming more annoying as Dumbledore sidled into Snape's portrait and became perusing the shelves for a book to read, "Albus Severus Potter. An interesting name, even if you choose to deny its significance. Not to mention the boy himself is fascinated with you, Severus. He's always hoping to catch you out and about. You should visit your portrait in Harry's home during the summers. Let him get to know you a bit."

Snape looked horrified at the thought, "Why, in the name of Merlin, would I want to subject myself to that, Albus? Letting Potter's offspring prowl through my head is the very last thing I want to endure in this life."

"Afterlife, if we're being proper," Dumbledore murmured as he scanned the preface of an especially ancient looking book, "Besides, Severus, you might find you have more in common than you believe. He is of your House, you recall, though slightly insecure about his Sorting, I believe."

"Why should he be insecure?" Snape's curiosity overruled his need for stoicism.

"He was Sorted into the House that is known for turning out dark wizards, not to mention the Dark Lord himself. His father has battled against members of Slytherin for years now. It's no wonder the boy worries if there is something wrong with him. Not only that, but I believe the rest of the family views it as some sort of fluke, though Harry is quite understanding of the situation," He looked pointedly at Snape, "You would be in a prime position to help the boy's self esteem, you know. He already admires you, his namesake."

Snape scowled and turned back to his books, "Why not you, Albus, as you also share that honor?"

Quietly, as he started to return to his own portrait with his book, Dumbledore said, "You were the one who fooled Voldemort, Severus, not I. Al's fascination is with you for all of your accomplishments."

Snape attempted to ignore the blatant manipulation as he buried himself in research. It did bother him, though, that the boy felt himself to be unworthy because of his House. His portrait in the Potter household was in the office, he thought he remembered…


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

In a small half-wizarding village in the north of Scotland, a middle-aged man sat in his cellar. He was working vigorously over a cauldron that was emitted bursts of grey vapor that smelled of rotting flesh. Every few minutes, he would reach over to his ingredient table, grab one of the many items laid out, and toss it unceremoniously into the cauldron.

After adding a half cup of powdered bicorn horn, he stood straight to check the progress out of a large grimoire on the desk nearby.

"The potion should have turned a very light shade of grey and have attained the consistency of milk…" he murmured as he wandered back to the cauldron. It looked right, but then, it had looked right the last two times he had tried to brew it. For the life of him, he could not determine what was going wrong. The next step was to bring the potion to a boil and stir counterclockwise eight times exactly. That was where it always seemed to go wrong, even though it seemed to be ready for it.

Gritting his teeth, he turned up the heat on the cauldron and waited. Once it was boiling, he eased the stirring stick into the potion and began stirring. After the eighth stir, he carefully pulled the stick out and set it back on the table. He switched off the fire under the cauldron and sat back. This was the farthest he had ever gotten on the potion without it exploding. His gaze strayed to the ingredient shelf.

A large black orb similar to a seer's crystal ball was perched on the center of the shelf in the midst of several rare and dangerous potion ingredients. The man smiled a bit grimly. Things were coming along perfectly, if he could only manage to properly brew this potion…

Speaking of this potion, he turned back to it resignedly as it released a putrid cloud of smoke. He had barely enough time to dive behind his desk before the cauldron gave an almighty shriek and split, sending the contents to splatter all over the cellar.

With a sigh, he stood and surveyed the scene before him. Biting his lip in frustration, he turned to the cabinet behind the desk, removed another set of the ingredients, and placed them on the worktable. He then pulled yet another cauldron from the stack he had assembled in the far corner of the room. He reset the work area and, with a last glance at the orb on the shelf, began again.

* * *

><p>Harry had returned to the Auror office and worked on his paperwork. Thankfully, no more attacks were reported, and he was able to catch up on the majority of it. He dropped it on Arthur's desk with an apologetic look before going to check the log book to see who was out doing follow-ups.<p>

Very few officers were actually out. Most were either attempting to work on their own paperwork in their cubicles or had been sent home to get whatever sleep they could before the next alarm. Besides the issue with the shadow, there had been problems with the security at Azkaban as well as an unfortunate misunderstanding between three Druids and a vampire which Harry was still tired enough to consider the beginning of a bad pub joke.

Harry was pulled from his exhausted musings by the shuffling of robes from behind him.

"Mr. Potter," said the Minister for Magic. Harry inclined his head slightly and shook the other man's hand. "It doesn't look as though the department is any better off than my office. I was rather hoping part of the Ministry wouldn't already be exhausted over this shadow."

"We're running out of leads," Harry told him, "Arthur's got us all on shortened shifts to make sure we're rotating and still getting some sleep. It's only going so far towards helping us move along, though. For the most part, we're just running over the same things we've been looking at since the first attack."

Shackelbolt bowed his head momentarily, "So we have nothing to offer the public in the way of reassurance. What would you recommend telling the press at this time? Arthur has asked that you handle the releases for the department. He seems to think you are more familiar with the beasts at the Daily Prophet."

Harry gave a short laugh as he met Shackelbolt's eyes, "I think most everyone sends the press to me when they can get away with it. It's a defensive tactic. Generally, they forget the real reason they're interviewing me and manage to get off on some tangent of my life."

"I can see how that might be considered an asset," Shackelbolt gave him a faint smile, "Do you have anything to offer the press?"

"Not really," Harry frowned, "But I do know exactly what this creature looks like now. I snapped a picture of it in my pensieve. It should be finished developing any time now. I'll pass that on to Dennis Creevey at the Prophet." The minister gave him a nod and turned to go back down the corridor to the lifts. He stopped and stuck his head in Arthur's door for just a moment before continuing on.

Harry glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed. Ginny would be getting home soon with Lily, and he had promised he would be home for dinner for the first time in two weeks. If he was going to keep that promise, he was going to have to quickly clear up his desk and hope that another call didn't come in.


End file.
